


Can You Hear the Music?

by MojaMolitva



Category: Original Work
Genre: Afterlife, Inspired by Art, ghost - Freeform, micro fiction, postcard fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14620206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MojaMolitva/pseuds/MojaMolitva
Summary: Written in 2011





	Can You Hear the Music?

Music. It is in us, it is around us. Music is everywhere, in everything. It’s what makes our heart beat and our voices sing. I believe that no matter where you look you can find music. So why is it that I can’t find it anymore? When I play my violin I hear the notes but I no longer feel the music. When I beat out a rhythm why does my heart no longer beat with it? I can remember how it felt. It lifted me up through a wave of emotions, each note I played was another rollercoaster of sound and sensation. I listened to music all the time, not just through my mp3 player but in the sounds around me. When I went to my grandma’s farm I heard it in the wind blowing through the wind chimes, in the farm animal sounds. I heard it in the tea kettle boiling and the old oven baking my grandma’s best apple pie. When I was home, the city made music too. Car horns mixed with voices in the street and subway sounds beneath. It was beautiful. And then it was gone. I still heard the sounds but the music wasn’t there and I don’t know why. I went about my daily routine and even that felt like it was missing something. I finally realized what it was when I went home for the weekend. Everyone was in black, someone important had died. Had my music died with that person? I walked around, everyone was crying or seemed to be holding back their tears. I found my mum and dad and tried to ask them what happened. They didn’t say anything. I tried again, still nothing. I walked around asking everybody and no one answered me. That’s when I came upon the memorial table, the one with lit candles and incense. The one with my photo on it. I knew what was wrong. My heart wasn’t beating any more. Music is life and my life was over. I never thought that the afterlife would be void of music but then again I wasn’t there yet, I was still ‘here’ even though I wasn’t really. I guess you could say I was very confused. Now all I long for is to hear the music again but I’m not ready to leave just yet. I go up to my old room. I find my first violin. The violin stays where it is as I try to pick it up, though a ghost of it comes up with my hand. I start playing my favourite piece, Mozart’s Violin Concerto No.5, and as I played the sounds from downstairs quieted. As I played I focused on the notes and slowly, I began to hear the music again…


End file.
